Par for the Course
by c. sherwood
Summary: Shawn has seen plenty of unhappy faces in his days as Practically Assistant Manager of the Tropical Paradise Mini Golf and Family Fun Center Now With 20% More Fun! , but he believes the man in front of him beats them all. SHASSIE that means slash, dears


Apparently every Shassie fic I write, _ever_, will be for Hannah. 3

Title: Par for the Course

Rating: PG13

Fandom: Psych

Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter

Word Count: a bit over 2000

Summary: takes place a few years before the first season. pink, mini golf, adhd, first dates.

Notes:

"Ooh, which color should I choose?"

Shawn has seen plenty of unhappy faces in his days as Practically Assistant Manager of the Tropical Paradise Mini Golf and Family Fun Center (Now With 20 More Fun!), but he believes the man in front of him beats them all. He is standing awkwardly straight and is looking just over the head of the little blonde woman clinging to the sleeve of his sweater with pale pink fingernails, and the look on his face reads 'I'm on a terrible date that I can't get out of, does someone have a blunt object I can hit myself and/or this terrifying woman over the head with repeatedly?'

"I don't know." he murmurs, looking down at the rack of multicolored golf balls and wincing. "Pink, maybe?" Shawn watches as the woman purses pink lips thoughtfully, then nods.

"I think so." she says, picking one up gingerly. She inclines her head to the side for the moment before plucking up a light blue ball and pushing it into his chest with a grin. "And this one's for you, because it matches your eyes."

"Of course." he says through his teeth, then looks up at Shawn, who gives him a pitying look. "How much?"

"Five dollars per person." Shawn replies, cheerfully, extending his hand for the money. "Have an enjoyable and safe experience!" The woman smiles at him, and clings tighter to the man's arm as she tugs him to the next rack.

"This is going to be _so much fun_, Carlton." she says, handing him his plastic golf club and walking ahead, skirt swishing with every step. Carlton lingers behind, so Shawn makes a split second decision and coughs significantly, then loudly, then asthmatically, until the older man looks at him.

"Are you dying?" he asks.

"No, but your date is." Shawn replies. "And I'm here to offer my services."

"Your. . .services?"

"Probably not what you're thinking. Nothing to do with drugs, snipers, or prostitution, in any case, though if that's what you're looking for. . ." he draws off, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I'm a police officer." Carlton says dryly, raising an eyebrow in reply.

"Ah, well. None of those things then." He should have known, really. The immaculate clothes, the perfect posture, the ability to be respectful of a woman who has obviously driven lesser men to insanity. This man could have been his father when he was still young enough to shoot people. "I'm offering services of a different sort. . .I can get you out of your date in five minutes or less, as long as you ask no questions and go along with everything I say. How does that sound?"

"_Carl_ton, what are you doing?" The sound of unreasonably high heels against linoleum loom ever closer.

"Uhm." Carlton hesitates.

"Boy Scout's honor." Shawn says, holding up three fingers. He was only a Boy Scout for three meetings that Gus dragged him to, before they went on their first camping trip and he realized he didn't enjoy sleeping in small tents that smell of other boys in the middle of the woods for even one night, nevertheless an entire Weekend Camporee. Carlton looks like he is about to betray everything he's ever believed in. Shawn smiles encouragingly.

"All right!" he says with an air of finality, turning sharply on his heel and disappearing through the door just as his date is opening it.

Two minutes later, Shawn follows them. It's not like he actually _has_ to have a plan, and he considers it something of a sacred duty to end all bad first dates before they lead to something worse, like bad second dates or bad marriages. It just happens that no one else has deserved his help as much as this guy.

"Can you show me how to do that again?" he hears the woman asks, just as he begins to round the windmill. Flattening his back against it, he inches forward just enough to get a clear shot of them. She is leaning back into his chest, eyes half shut and smiling flirtatiously as he awkwardly positions her limbs.

"Aha!" Shawn cries, jumping out towards them, partly for the satisfaction of hearing her scream and partly because he just enjoys it.

"What are you doing." Carlton says, not even bothering to act surprised.

"You are breaking Rule #452 of the Tropical Paradise Mini Golf and Family Fun Center, sir, which prohibits any _public displays of affection_, otherwise known as _PDA_." He crosses his arms over his chest and uses his best glare. "I'm afraid I'll have to escort you from the premises."

"Oh no." Carlton says, obviously fighting to maintain his composure.

"Oh _no_. You can't do that." his date cries.

"Actually, I can, ma'am." Shawn replies gravely. He rummages in his pockets until he finds the majority of what is left of his last paycheck and hands it to her. "For a cab. Good day." He grabs Carlton's arm and pulls him away, keeping his head bowed until they are far enough away that she can't hear them. He breaks out into laughter, leaning against the other man for support, still holding his arm.

"That. . .that was _awesome_. Did you see the look on her face?" he chokes out, grinning up at Carlton who smiles hesitantly back.

"I feel like I should feel bad, just leaving her here." he says, but his eyes show nothing but relief. Shawn wonders momentarily why he didn't look at Carlton's eyes before, because they are very blue, and then takes another moment to wonder why he even cares.

"She'll be fine." he assures him, looking down at his hand, still holding tight to the strong arm.

"Of course. I think. . ." he pulls away from Shawn, pointedly. "I think I'll go, then."

Shawn nods, dumbly, watching as he walks carefully over the bright green carpeting and through the door. It only takes him a second to realize that Carlton leaving is a bad idea, a really terrible idea, even though he doesn't know why, and he is running before he can even think about it.

"Hey, wait up!" he calls, high-tops pounding against the pavement of the parking lot. Carlton looks back at him, surprise lighting up his features. "I don't normally rescue people, so I don't know how this whole thing goes, but doesn't the rescuee generally treat the rescuer to dinner?" It's not the smoothest line he's ever used, but, then again, it wasn't meant to be a line at all. Everything just seems to come out that way.

"I don't know about that." Carlton says, leaning into his car. He is smiling, which is nice, Shawn decides, and he looks more comfortable in the darkening parking lot than the technicolor dreamland they had just left.

"Well, the rescuer just spent all his money on the rescuee, and look how thin he is! If he goes without a meal, he could very well waste away, and then wouldn't the rescuee feel guilty?" His mouth has a tendency to move faster than most other parts of his body, but most of the time it works out in his favor.

"Get in." Carlton murmurs, laughing as he walks around towards the driver's side. Shawn tries not to look too eager as he slides into the seat opposite him. The car is a dark nondescript undercover type deal, and he feels both incredibly important and incredibly uncomfortable as his bare arms stick and slide against the worn leather. In the floorboard at his feet, there's a bouquet of flowers in shades of pink and purple that have already started wilting. He picks it up, raising an eyebrow when Carlton gets in.

"You actually wanted to encourage her?" he asks, shaking them a little bit. Blooms fall off and drift casually to the floor again. He drops the rest of them a moment later, smiling a little at the satisfying noise they make.

"I didn't know she was insane the first time we met. She hid it well." Carlton shakes his head, turning the key in the ignition. Music fills the car, and Shawn bursts out laughing again.

"_Jewel?_ Please, please tell me that doesn't belong to you. I might have to reject your extremely generous dinner invitation."

"She brought it with her." He messes with the radio until a classic rock station plays the welcome first chords of a Led Zeppelin song, then adds, "And I didn't exactly invite you."

"But you know you wanted to." Shawn stretches out more comfortably, smiling. "Besides, you owe me. I can be paid off with french fries."

He drums out a solo on the dashboard as they pull out of the parking lot.

"Are you sure you don't want some, like. . .meat? It's really good." Shawn holds out his hamburger temptingly over the table, raising an eyebrow. "And not so green, which I just can't find appetizing."

"I don't eat meat anymore." Carlton says.

"Anymore?"

"Since the first time I shot someone." Long fingers play with a straw, bending the top of it aimlessly.

"Wow." Shawn can't say he's not impressed, despite a lifetime of hearing about people getting shot. There's something very nice about that.

The dinner has been going like this, short conversations that end in him being unable to do much other than continue to steal all of Carlton's pocket change to play power ballads on the jukebox. It's not awkward, really, but he feels like there is something that they aren't saying.

They have coffee before they leave, though, and Shawn orders pie and convinces the older man to eat half of it.

"Back to the golf course?" Carlton asks, really smiling by now, stretching strong arms above his head. Shawn watches the sun set from behind the neon sign outside, trying to decide on an answer.

"I took the bus, actually," he says, which is a lie, because his brand new used motorcycle that he had saved up for since his freshman year is sitting behind the golf course, strategically hidden between the dumpsters to insure its safety. "And since I no longer have any money, d'you think you could maybe drop me off at my place?"

His place. This is all seeming startlingly similar to the night he lost his virginity to Cissy Danes, the lies and Journey playing softly and the very, very blue eyes, and Shawn doesn't know how he feels about that.

"Where do you live?"

_Score!_ Shawn thinks, a little hysterically, and gives him directions.

"So, you're a cop." When they are in the car, almost to his apartment, Shawn begins to grasp at the straws of polite conversation.

"I'm a police officer." Carlton is one of those people who refuses to look away from the road while he's driving, so Shawn watches the way his eyes stay intent in front of him, the corners of his mouth curving in a half smile. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason." He doesn't want to tell him about his dad, but there is that voice in his head telling him that it is a point of interest, that it will make this silence less uncomfortable, that dear God, Spencer, _say something._ "Well, my dad's a cop."

"Really? Here?" Carlton's eyes flicker over to him for a moment, which he counts as a victory.

"Henry Spencer."

"You're_ Henry Spencer's_ son?" Shawn sighs and points out his apartment building as they near it.

"Yes, and I am very aware of the man crushes that other officers have on my father. You have no idea how often I've had to listen to grown men swoon." They come to a slow stop in front of the door, and Shawn throws his eyes back up to him, smiling lazily. "My mother got _so_ jealous."

"I would imagine." Carlton says, blushing slightly, and Shawn is torn between being uncomfortable that he is one of his father's many younger fanboys and finding the fact that he's blushing something more than uncomfortable.

They stare at each other for approximately five seconds.

"Erm, are you going to get. . ." Carlton starts, and Shawn slips fingers into the neck of his sweater and pulls him forward, kissing him on the mouth. Carlton's sentence finishes with a vague trailing off, punctuated by a surprised noise and a bit of flailing at him. Blue eyes regard him warily. Shawn wonders whether he keeps a gun on him.

"So, are you. . .interested?" he asks, looking up through his eyelashes. He is fairly certain that he has been more than shamelessly flirting all night, but he's only recently gotten into this whole bisexuality thing, so it's possible that all he just did was molest an officer of the law.

"No?" Carlton says.

"Are you sure?" Shawn gets on his knees to get better access as he kisses him again, attempting to put many years of diligent practice to good use before he pulls away, smiling knowingly.

". . .no." Carlton admits, looking breathless and hardly disinterested, and Shawn glances up at the window to his apartment before slowly getting out of the car, sauntering towards the doors.

There is a long, quiet moment before he hears desperate shuffling from him and turns to see Carlton, hair messy and cheeks flushed, moving up the sidewalk to meet him.

"This is probably a bad idea." he says.

"Oh, definitely. A _horrible_ idea." Shawn takes his hand and tugs him towards the elevator, grinning all the way.

-fin-

I thought I would leave the rest to your imagination.


End file.
